


frozen melodies

by ncfan



Series: Legendarium Ladies April [25]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Doriath, First Age, Gen, POV Female Character, Touching on Luthien's status as a half-Maia, Tumblr: legendariumladiesapril, legendarium ladies april
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 11:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: Lúthien was not quite herself in winter.





	frozen melodies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the April 1st [picture prompt](http://legendariumladiesapril.tumblr.com/post/183865603352/legendarium-ladies-april-prompts-for-april-01), ‘Women.’

Lúthien often found herself so sleepy for most of winter. Nimloth had made a joke about bears and hibernation, and indeed, though the drowsiness was not overwhelming, she often felt like a bear would in winter: sleepy, a little unfocused, rather snappish. If not for her status and her duties (though the latter were rather lighter than they might have been in any place but Doriath), it would have been a fine thing to go back to her den, arrange the blankets into a deep, soft nest, and just sleep winter away.

Mother, wise as she was, had another explanation, one that sat more securely in Lúthien’s mind. She was bound to the earth. All the Eldar were, of course, and the Avari could claim the same, but Lúthien’s situation was unique. She was Elda, and she was Maia, and the songs that shaped the world in winter revealed themselves more fully to Lúthien than to a simple Elda, and influenced her more strongly than they would a simple Maia, thanks to Lúthien’s greater bonds to the earth.

In winter, the earth was sleeping, breathing more slowly so as not to destroy itself in the bitter cold. In winter, the earth was sleeping, and dreaming of spring. Lúthien could not help but long to do the same.

Lúthien was a different person in winter; this was the opinion held by all who truly knew her, who did not share her mother’s deep well of knowledge to draw on. Father’s worry was assuaged by Mother’s reassurances. Nimloth, of course, made comments about bears, and occasional remarks about other animals that hibernated in the winter. Celeborn waited for springtime, when Lúthien would be “herself” again. Daeron wrote songs based on the strains of melody that Lúthien had been able to describe to him—“counterpoints,” he called them, hoping to counteract the effects of winter on his friend.

And she felt different, as well. When winter stretched its cold fingers over the land, when the light of day began to dim so much more readily than in high summer, Lúthien did begin to feel tired, did begin to feel sleep set its weight on her shoulders, but that wasn’t the whole of it. She just… just wasn’t herself. She heard different songs calling to her from the earth and the sky and the water, and they sang so sweetly that it was hard for Lúthien to tell where her own thoughts ended and the songs began. It was wonderful, that feeling of being filled with song, but it was disconcerting as well. She didn’t feel like herself. She felt as if something was trying to overwrite her mind and her spirit.

 _I am spring’s child. Winter is not my time_.

Which was frustrating, for pristine and snowy winter was lovely in her sight.

Lúthien found herself outside among the holly trees one night. The guards and the wardens were either absent, or keeping their distance; there was nothing that could harm the princess of Doriath so close to Doriath’s beating heart, and there was no harm in giving her the privacy she must desire, to be leaving Menegroth in the dead of winter night. She was alone, and though Lúthien loved the company of her friends, she was grateful for her solitude tonight. Her purpose for being here did not bear company.

The snow crunched under her bare feet, cold and wet, sending a jolt of something up her spine that in an Elda would perhaps have been a shiver. Niphredil poked their delicate heads up through the snow, accompanied by sturdier purple crocuses and yellow primroses that, this year, had bloomed far too early. Moonlight lanced the trees, illuminating the forest with shafts of milky light that turned the holly leaves to silver.

A soft breeze, gentle despite its talons of ice, wafted through Lúthien’s smoky, floating hair, carrying to her many scents that would have been beyond the reach of many of the Eldar. She hummed a little tune, stretching out her will, and soon enough, a shape emerged from the trees.

The stag looked young; he had three years to his name, at most. He approached Lúthien with some caution, but no fear, and the caution left him soon enough. Lúthien smiled when he halted before her, reaching out to stroke his head and smiling more widely when he pressed his head into his hand.

“This has been a difficult winter for you, too, has it not?” she asked. “It may be dark, but I can see you’ve grown thin. Food hasn’t been plentiful for you, has it?”

Of course, the stag did not answer her. He had not the words. But when Lúthien took some moss and mushrooms from a fold in her topmost layer of clothing, his eyes lit up, and that look said as much as any ‘Thank you’ ever could.

The ground was solid beneath her feet, and winter’s song was strong and loud, but Lúthien strove to push past it, tried to listen out for something else. Winter’s song spoke to her of snow and ice, dead leaves and long nights and sleep. For such a quiet, muted season, winter sang so loudly, trying its very best to drown out everything else that could possibly have competed with it. But Lúthien was not possessed of so weak a voice herself, nor so weak a will, and she searched through verses and notes, pushed back layers of song, looking for—

There it was. Sat below all the layers of winter’s song, there she had found it. Weak, still, struggling to assert itself against the high tones of winter for even a moment, but the seed had sprouted, the melody awoken, and sleeping earth was beginning to blink its bleary eyes. Not too long, now, before the shoot shot up from the cold earth. Not too long before snows melted and skies cleared and the threes were dressed with buds. Not too long before lethargy left her, and the sunlight warmed her again, and what dwelt within her own spirit bloomed anew. Not long, now.

“Fear not,” Lúthien assured the stag. “Spring shall come again.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Eldar** —‘People of the Stars’ (Quenya); a name first given to the Elves by Oromë when he found them by Cuiviénen, but later came to refer only to those who answered the summons to Aman and set out on the March, with those who chose to remain by Cuiviénen coming to be known as the Avari; the Eldar were composed of these groups: the Vanyar, Ñoldor (those among them who chose to go to Aman), and the Teleri (including their divisions: the Lindar, Falmari, Sindar and Nandor).  
>  **Niphredil** —‘Little pallor’ (Sindarin); a white flower that bloomed first in Doriath when Lúthien was born. It also grew in Lothlórien, on Cerin Amroth. In appearance it was similar to a snowdrop.


End file.
